A Splendid Hazard eBook

Laura unfolded the story, and when she came to the
end, the excitement was hot and Babylonic. Napoleon!
What a word! A treasure put together to rescue
him from St. Helena! Gold, French gold, English
gold, Spanish and Austrian gold, all mildewing in a
rotting chest somewhere back of Ajaccio! It
was unbelievable, fantastic as one of those cinematograph
pictures, running backward.

“But what are you going to do with it when you
find it?”

“Findings is keepings,” quoted the admiral.
“Perhaps divide it, perhaps turn it over to
France, providing France agrees to use it for charitable
purposes.”

“A fine plan, is it not, Mr. Breitmann?”
said M. Ferraud.

“Findings is keepings,” repeated Breitmann,
with a pale smile.

The eyes of Hildegarde von Mitter burned and burned.
Could she but read what lay behind that impassive
face! And he took it all with a smile!
What would he do? what would he do now? kept recurring
in her mind. She knew the man, or at least she
thought she did; and she was aware that there existed
in his soul dark caverns which she had never dared
to explore. Yes, what would he do now?
How would he put his hand upon this gold? She
trembled with apprehension.

And later, when she found the courage to put the question
boldly, he answered with a laugh, so low and yet so
wild with fury that she drew away from him in dumb
terror.

CHAPTER XIX

BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER

The secretary nerved himself and waited; and yet he
knew what her reply would be, even before she framed
it, knew it with that indescribable certainty which
prescience occasionally grants in the space of a moment.
Before he had spoken there had been hope to stand
upon, for she had always been gentle and kindly toward
him, not a whit less than she had been to the others.

“Mr. Breitmann, I am sorry. I never dreamed
of this;” nor had she. She had forgotten
Europeans seldom understand the American girl as she
is or believe that the natural buoyancy of spirit is
as free from purpose or intent as the play of a child.
But in this moment she remembered her little and
perfectly inconsequent attentions toward this man,
and seeing them from his viewpoint she readily forgave
him. Abroad, she was always on guard; but here,
among her own compatriots who accepted her as she
was, she had excusably forgotten. “I am
sorry if you have misunderstood me in any way.”

“I could no more help loving you than that those
stars should cease to shine to-night,” his voice
heavy with emotion.

“I am sorry,” she could only repeat.
Men had spoken to her like this before, and always
had the speech been new to her and always had a great
and tender pity charged her heart. And perhaps
her pity for this one was greater than any she had
previously known; he seemed so lonely.